


Cat Form

by pauraque



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Interspecies, Rough Sex, Scarification, Sex with Sentient Animals, Tauren - Warcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The quest to receive Cat Form has never been implemented.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat Form

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill the 'scars/scarification' square in the 2010 round of [Kink Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org).
> 
> Other content includes supernatural bestiality, violent sex, and blood.

As Owis walks away from Nighthaven, a hot, humid air comes down around her. She is not surprised — she has known from her youth that the Moonglade is changeable — but she is cautious. She tries to walk like the cat does; she places each hoof down in the leaf litter before she moves her weight forward. She is not used to moving this way, and it is frustratingly slow. In her mind, she takes up the frustration and looks at it with interest, and then she puts it aside; it is something she does not need.

The jungle is becoming close around her. What was a broad forest path is now a narrow, twisting way. Everywhere there is the buzz of insects, the chirp of frogs. The air smells of rot and rain; it is so heavy with wetness that to breathe it in is nearly drowning.

The ferns rustle behind her, but there is no wind.

Owis freezes. She strains to listen, her ears twitching in spite of herself, but there is no way to hear. The birds are never still, and their chatter fills her head with nonsense. Sweat trickles down her back.

Gradually, carefully, she moves again, but she has not gone three steps before there is another whisper of a rustle, this time just behind her neck.

She spins around in instinctual fear, her concentration broken, and as she draws back, her horns brush against a low tree branch. She shouts, a sharp echo that silences, for a moment, the birds. She twists forward and back, heart pounding, and as the din of animal song crescendoes again, that is when she sees him.

His eyes come first, bright as stars. Then grinning teeth, and the rest of him melts slowly into view, mane and horns and paws, and all she can think for a moment is that he is so _big_. She is not a small Tauren by any means, but the body of the Cat Spirit — broad and solid and tight-muscled like a draft horse — makes her feel as slight as a child.

When she met the Bear Spirit, he might have been bigger, but she was not afraid. The Bear felt kind and protectful, and spoke to Owis in her father's voice...

The Cat takes a silent step towards her, and she finds herself falling back, turning and searching frantically for the path that is no longer there. Her hands clutch at knotted tangles of sticky vines that do not yield. When she looks back, the Cat is still there, stalking towards her in silence. As he comes, his head never moves, his star-eyes always level, always holding her.

His voice sounds in her mind like cries whipped by the wind. It is impossible to hear him, but she knows what he has said:

"Do you fear?"

"Yes," Owis says, or perhaps she only says it in her mind. The hiss of it is gone so quickly in the roar of jungle life that after a moment even she is not sure if she spoke.

"Will they fear?" asks the Cat. As he comes to her, he turns and steps around her, passing his body against her side. He is solid and languid, and she is trembling violently. His shoulder comes up almost to her own. "Your enemies."

His tail slinks along her arm, the fur of it passing over her own. The sinuous stroke of it goes deep into her belly, turning the fear inside-out, drawing out her whisper into a trembling moan as her eyes fall closed. "Yes..."

"I will teach you."

There is no time to answer. His head makes impact with her back, and she is down. Her hands scrape on soil and stone as she grasps for purchase. The weight of the Cat upon her drives her knees down into the soft earth, and for a moment she thinks she will sink away and down, lost.

The fear melts away as he grips her by the back of the neck — the instinctual relaxation of all kittens when they are held, and all cats when they are mated. She feels more than hears the leonine grunt as he prods at the backs of her thighs. She spreads, arching her back. She wants him to take her, she wants to take him _in_. What he is. What she could be.

His cock is barbed like a spear. It is not so bad when he plunges in, but when he pulls back it is agony, and the howl she lets loose is the yowl of the alley cat in heat, caught for all time between desire and pain, unable to have one without the other.

The Cat's hulking body is unbearably hot as he takes her, stifling, shoving back and forth in short little jerks, but when his seed comes it is _cold_ , filling her belly with burning ice. In these moments, she is learning pain, she is learning what it is for the soft parts of the body to tear and rip, to shred and mangle.

As he draws his barbs out for the last time, her wail is punctuated by a shriek — he lets her neck go and sinks his teeth into her shoulder, like a serrated blade through meat.

His weight lifts, and her blood flows, and she feels that she is changing. The ice he left inside her mingles with her blood — in a delirious haze, she thinks it feels good in the heat — and her head falls to the ground, her rear end still up in the air. Her bones move, her muscles move, and her skin is open now. He has opened it. He has let her out. She touches her face, and feels the whiskers that grow beneath her paws.

His heavy breath passes over her body, like a kiss. His huge paw on the small of her back. His touch — it is not forceful, but she collapses beneath it. She is claimed, she is owned, and she is soothed.

***

When Owis awakens, she is Tauren again, and the Cat Spirit is gone.

The evening breeze cools her, so fresh after the jungle, and she sits up abruptly, a thrill of fear passing through her. She is alone on a broad forest path, not far from the Nighthaven road. It is still.

She spreads her legs and looks down to examine herself; she does not hurt anymore, but there is a part of her that disbelieves it. She remembers the pain. She looks, and there are no wounds.

When she looks to her shoulder, she sees there is a crescent-shaped scar that looks as though it has been there for years, bald of fur.

She stands up, still a little shaky, and stretches to rid herself of the stiffness of sleep. Is it the same evening, or has more time passed? She turns to walk back to the village, placing each hoof carefully before her weight, and whispering sober thanks.


End file.
